The Price of Victory
by BookWorm4307
Summary: "Victory is not a medal or a trophy to hang on a mantel; victory is being forced to bear scars that cannot be erased from our souls." Post-war, Hermione questions the price of victory.


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter world, all of the characters, places and ideas come from J.K. Rowling.**

Hermione's POV

We had all been fighting for a common goal, defeat Voldemort, defeat evil. Well, he is gone now and that foundation which united us is now obsolete. This is what happens at the end of a war, no one remembers why they were allies because no has anything in common anymore. Families are left broken with gaping holes where their loved ones once stood and society is left in fragments. So much has been lost and so much will never be the same. I heard someone ask their friend the question, "What were we even fighting for?"

When looking at the destruction, the collapse of Hogwarts and the names of the fallen, it's hard to remember the answer; even I forget sometimes. Was it all to keep one boy alive? Was it in order to fight against discrimination? Or was it just a power struggle? Why do people always allow power to corrupt them?

Even if you can figure out what the answers are, the one question that seems to be answerless is whether it was worth the fight. The first few days following the fall of the Dark Lord were beautiful. Strangers took care of strangers and families held onto each other with an immeasurable vigor. There were vigils held in commemoration of those who had fallen and it seemed as though the bond of humanity was indestructible. There was a silence that had never been heard before. Peace was foreign to us, and everyone wanted to bathe in its brilliance. However, the week following things began to fall apart.

That was when the funerals began and we were forced to look behind us and look at the terror that had been done unto us and the terror we had imposed on others.

People were trying to treat their injuries but so many of us will be forced to carry on with incurable scars. The ones on our skin will cease to cause physical pain, but looking at them reminds us of our internal scars and those are the scars that cause enduring suffering.

I look down and realize as my thoughts are traveling, my fingers have been tracing the lines of the words marred on my skin by Bellatrix. _Mudblood_. War is on my skin, and it will never go away.

"Hermione?"

I shake my head, trying to push back my wandering mind in order to focus on the people in the room.

"Yeah? Sorry I didn't catch that."

Kingsley gives a small smile, "I asked if you would like to give input on what the memorial should be."

I shrug, "I don't really know much about that sort of thing."

The brightest witch doesn't have answers, this seems to unnerve some.

Kingsley tries to push me gently, "You don't need to have any concrete ideas, but is there anything that you think needs to be incorporated?"

I pause in thought.

A woman I don't know in the back raises her suggestion with enthusiasm. "I think it would be wonderful if we could have a monument that has statues of you three," pointing at Harry, Ron and myself, "and perhaps a plaque of the names of major contributors to the war. Oh! And the words "The Golden Trio" in large gold letters so that everyone remembers them!"

Harry begins to shake his head furiously. Ron stares at his feet trying to find a way to exit the room through the floor.

I reply, "That's not really appropriate."

The woman tilts her head in confusion, "But you're heroes! You should be put on display for everyone to see! We should be bowing down to you. Especially you Mr. Potter!" she declared focusing her attention on Harry. "Why, everyone should be kneeling at your feet for what you have done!"

Harry's hands begin shake, as they often have in the past few days, a kind of anxious tick. That's the thing with war, even though the battles conclude the fight within perpetuates onward no matter our defenses.

I meet his eyes and speak up for him, "Harry doesn't, nor Ron or myself, wish to be the mascots of the war. If there needs to be a monument it would be better to come up with a different approach."

The woman's confusion persisted, "But centuries from now people will look back on the major figures and you three are those notables."

"Why should a statue of me be created to commemorate victory, when I am responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of lives?" Harry mumbled from his chair.

The woman gabbers on while the three of us gaze at each other knowingly.

Sometimes, in moments like these, it's hard to see the children we used to be back when we were precocious eleven year olds. Is there anything left of those kids who were distracted by school, sports and romantic crushes? How could we have known that without those distractions the world was a dark and punishing place? How many books did I hide behind, Quidditch matches that occupied Harry's thoughts, or chess games kept Ron away for hours? Those people are gone; they have been replaced by individuals hardened by the bitterness of warfare and the horrors of death.

The ten other people in the room were chattering animatedly about what they think would be best.

"I think that we should have Dumbledore-"

"What about a poem-"

"We could include the founders of Hogwarts-"

"A lightning bolt like his-"

I stand up abruptly, "I think you should have a statue of Voldemort's face."

Everyone stares at me in bewilderment. Even Ron and Harry have bemused expressions.

"I mean, if you want people to remember a war, give them the face of the war. People aren't going to remember how badly it feels to have killed someone or how the faces of your victims never leave you and burn into your memory no matter how hard you try to forget. They will have forgotten the profound fear that was fixated in all of us as we fought for our lives and prayed that our families and friends would survive. They won't know that we begged for death when we were tortured by our enemy nor will they care that our enemies were our peers."

I glanced at my friends, "A statue of us will tell people that everything is alright, that life goes on. But life didn't go on for many. You put up the face of Voldemort and people won't forget. And if they don't forget, then they won't repeat our lessons."

Kingsley sighed, "Hermione-"

I shook my head, "No. They need to know. Generations ahead need to know that victory is not a medal or a trophy to hang on a mantel; victory is being forced to bear scars that cannot be erased from our souls."

The knot in my throat burns so I sit down.

The ten people return to their discussion of alternative ideas.

The three of us stare at the floor because we know that nothing we say matters. They will build their monument and they will praise us for what we have done. One day students will learn about us in their curriculum and they will know the role we played in the war. Generation after generation will learn about the heroism of the Golden Trio and one day they will remember the fight and forget the cause. Once the cause is forgotten it won't be long before trouble begins to brew once more.

Because for some reason, people only enjoy peace after the world has been broken apart.


End file.
